Katie Bell was removed to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries the following day, by which time the news that she had been cursed had spread all over the school, though the details were confused. Nobody other than Charlie, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne seemed to know that Katie herself had not been the intended target.
"Oh, and Malfoy knows, of course," Harry reminded his friends, who continued their new policy of feigning deafness whenever Harry mentioned his Malfoy-Is-a-Death-Eater theory.
Charlie had wondered whether Dumbledore would return from wherever he had been in time for his Monday night lesson with Harry, but having had no word to the contrary, he presented himself with his best friend outside Dumbledore's office at eight o'clock, knocked, and was told to enter.
There sat Dumbledore looking unusually tired; his hand was as black and burned as ever, but he smiled when he gestured for Harry and Charlie to sit down, looking slightly relieved that his grandson had come along to see him. The Pensieve was sitting on his desk, casting silvery specks of light over the ceiling.
"Ah, Charles," smiled Dumbledore gratefully. "I didn't know you'd be joining us this evening."
"I hope you don't mind," pleaded Charlie, shamefully avoiding Dumbledore's pestering blue eyes, internally dealing with the aftermath of their fight. "I'm avoiding someone, you see, and I don't have anywhere else to go..."
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"Not to worry, m'boy, in fact, I'm glad you're here," beamed Dumbledore, now looking between Harry and Charlie. He lowered his voice in a serious manner, "I see that the two of you have had a busy time while I've been away. Professor McGonagall told me you witnessed Katie's accident."
"Yes, sir," nodded Harry.
"How is she?" Charlie inquired, looking a little distraught.
"Still very unwell, although she was relatively lucky," explained Dumbledore, heaving a great sigh. "She appears to have brushed the necklace with the smallest amount of skin possible. Had she put it on, had she even held it in her ungloved hand, she would have died, perhaps instantly. Luckily Professor Snape was able to do enough to prevent a rapid spread of the curse —"
"Why him?" asked Harry quickly. "Why not Madame Pomfrey?"
"Impertinent," said a soft voice from one of the portraits on the wall, and Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius's great-great-grandfather, raised his head from his arms where he had appeared to be sleeping. "I would not have permitted a student to question the way Hogwarts operated in my day."
"Yes, thank you, Phineas," dismissed Dumbledore quellingly. "Professor Snape knows much more about the Dark Arts than Madame Pomfrey, Harry. Anyway, the St. Mungo's staff are sending me hourly reports, and I am hopeful that Katie will make a full recovery in time."
